Hey, Kids! Here's How To Beat The Devil At His Own Game! By Dave McElfresh GIVEN THAT THE pompadoured televangelists have now spent more than 40 years warning us of the evils of rock and roll, it's odd that these guardians of goodness have for the last 15 years overlooked another major musical trap of the Horned One. The sneaky culprit: gutless jazz. From the beginning of the last decade De Debil has been comatizing post-rock-and-roll Baby Boomers with Pretty Instrumental Music, shriveling them into pod people lacking musical integrity and adventure, weighing down their lives and entertainment centers with dreadfully lifeless song. Truly, Satan Rules over jazz. Cast your eyes upon his two-pronged destruction of what has long been considered to be America's only original art form. You, beloved fellow jazz listener, are regularly enticed into choosing between two doors that both lead to Hell, years ago opened by two very familiar faces, and since handed over to legions of new demons. Door To Hell No. 1: Wynton Marsalis appeared as the first tuxedoed gatekeeper when he released his debut album in 1981 at the age of 20. Marsalis has since preached that The Best Jazz Guys Are The Dead Jazz Guys, while continually denying that he and his cohorts' blatant attempts at sounding like early Miles Davis or Lee Morgan are outright necrophilia. The gate has since been held open by jazz zombies like Harry Connick, Jr., Terence Blanchard, Wallace Roney, Marcus Roberts, Roy Hargrove and Courtney Pine. These neotraditionalists use CD cover art reminiscent of old Blue Note albums, require formal wear on stage, attempt to butt into jazz lineage through the mimicry of at least one legendary stylist, and talk ad nauseam on PBS to schoolchildren about the days When Jazz Was Real. Door To Hell No. 2: Kenny G and his flute began promising Elysian Fields in 1982, within a year of Marsalis stepping behind his podium (there are no coincidences in Satan's plans). The G man (Gall? Gruesome? Grasping?) believes that jazz should be relaxing music, a soundtrack for sipping coffee (decaf, please) on Sunday afternoons. The more recent jazz-lite doormen, kept from floating away only by the weight of their instruments, are Najee, Bob James, The Rippingtons, Lee Ritenour, and Special EFX. Watch out for cutesy songtitles, an unnatural absence of minor chords (they're a real downer to hear when unbagging those groceries, you know), Evian waterbottles on stage, tunes built on nothing more than simple riffs repeated to death, Jazzerobics, and anything on the radio calling itself The Wave or Acid Jazz. You'd think nothing else was out there, yet nothing could be further from the truth: Smooth Vocals: Singer Cassandra Wilson has released a wonderful album called New Moon Daughter that avoids the usual beat-to-death standards and instead jazzifies songs by U2, Neil Young, Hank Williams and, believe it or not, The Monkees ("Last Train To Clarksville"). No less unique is singer Holly Cole's Temptation, a collection of Tom Waits tunes covered by a jazz trio. World Music: Brasilia, previously a Phoenix-based band, has recorded a solid bossa nova-ish set called River Wide on Herbie Mann's Kokopelli label. Cuban pianist Gonzalo Rubalcaba, one of the greatest jazz finds of the past decade, mixes his hair-raising improvising with a heavy salsa element on Imagine: Live In America. Hafez Modirzadeh serves up some moody Middle Eastern jazz on The People's Blues. Jazz Fusion À La Weather Report And Return To Forever: Guitarist Mike Stern, who played in one of the more vicious Miles Davis bands, keeps his rock guitar roots evident on Between The Lines. Herbie Hancock has intentionally avoided rehashing the usual catalog of standards by recording jazz versions of pop songs on the imperfect but admirable The New Standard. One of the most unique Hendrix tributes has come from a collective of hardcore, mostly European jazzers--Christy Doran, Fredy Studer, Phil Minton, Django Bates and Amin Ali--and is entitled Plays The Music Of Jimi Hendrix. And Van Morrison has recorded How Long Has This Been Going On?, a jazz album that sacrifices none of his usual R&B feel. Building On, Not Regurgitating, Jazz Tradition: Heads And Tails by The Ray Anderson Alligatory Band keeps New Orleans music current, thanks to the crazed trombone work of its leader. The hardblowing, bop-influenced Michael Brecker has Tales From The Hudson coming out in June. Saxophonist Ornette Coleman continues his third decade of controversial jazz on the quirky Tone Dialing. Also check out the subtle guitar work of legend Jim Hall on the recent Dialogues. Funk And Hip Hop: Saxophonist Steve Coleman, one of the first young players to mix Hip Hop with jazz years ago, has Curves Of Life coming out any day now. Guitarist Charlie Hunter records funk-jazz in his band T.J. Kirk, which is dedicated to reshaping the music of Thelonious Monk, Jimi Hendrix and Rahsaan Roland Kirk (therefore the band name). Soon he'll release a hip hop-influenced jazz project under his own name called Ready Set Shango! John Scofield's recent Groovelation is another of his typically nasty ventures falling somewhere between New Orleans streetband music and the Funkadelics. Cool And Steady And Easy by the Brooklyn Funk Essentials is one of the best jazz-funk outings yet recorded. Other names to look for: Greg Osby, Gary Thomas and funk organist Barbara Dennerlein. Noise/Avant Garde: At least half a dozen equally wacko and mean-spirited early recordings by saxophonist John Zorn have been rereleased on the Tzadik label--look for the black spine with Hebrew lettering and you can't go wrong. The David S. Ware Quartet has put out Dao, a hard-blowing set that hits the listener like a tornado of saxophones. Also, multi-instrumental Elliot Sharp turns out some fine, assaultive stuff on the recent compilation Arc 1. Other names to look for: Bazooka, The Sort Of Quartet and Hotel X are three insane jazz ensembles all on the colorful SST Records label, which, having recorded and strongly supported Arizona's Meat Puppets, should offer a clue as to the three bands' uniqueness. Drop these discs into your deck and listen closely. You'll hear the Dark One gnashing his teeth in frustration, furious that you've experimented, thought for yourself and bought music that, by God, does not fit quietly behind a barbecue or wine-tasting party. Get thee behind us, Wynton and Kenny.

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